The Pilgrimage: Part 15 / Phillip Neal Tippin
Loosen the straps
To begin to let
Them flap again
This evening needed its naming
I jot a batch of second rate lines
Because I lack a catalog of firsts.
Pushing off cliffs and ledges,
Trying out their airy edges,
Sing until the breezes peter
Boulder floored, meadow moored,
Wait to see the trail leading,
Climb again and feel the heaving.
This paint may not be You, yet,
You do look like something,
You could be painted, recalled.
Ordinary Time
Hardly bides
Hyperbolic lines.
The breathing branch in heat
With breezes did ‘a chesting rise.
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